Eighty Two Meaningless Letters
by brookegrace
Summary: "Who were you talking to?" she hears her husband ask from the kitchen. She ponders the question for a few seconds, and when she sees him walk into their bedroom, she shrugs her shoulders and gives him an effortless lie. "No one important."


_I'm in a really crappy, sappy, broken mood, so I just felt like doing this. It's not really long. I literally opened up word 21 minutes ago and now I'm about to post it. I don't know, review? And yes, I'm a BL fan.  
_

_Xx N._

-X-

Her phone beeps, but she pretends not to notice.

Instead, she continues to stare at the box intently. Her fingers are tightly wrapped around the almost empty glass of wine, but she does not notice the lack of the liquid. The box of memories she believed to have been lost somewhere in her many moves is now tempting her without reprieve.

Reading one wont hurt, she tells herself. So she graciously swifts her fingers through the slightly dusty envelopes, picking out the battered looking ones.

_June 8th_

_Lucas,_

_I don't ever want you to be sad on account of me, regardless of the situation. _

_-b-  
_

_June 16th_

_Broody, _

_It's beautiful in California today. The sun is setting, and the wind feels crisp. I miss you today. I didn't yesterday, I was too angry. But now, watching the sun rise, it makes me think of how through everything we've been through, my love for you still grows._

_-b-  
_

_June 17th_

_Lucas,_

_I still love you._

_-b-  
_

_July 1st_

_Lucas,_

_I slept with a guy that I met at the beach. He's a native to California. He was tan, and his name started with a T, I think. I'm sorry that I'll never be enough._

_-b-  
_

_July 4th_

_Broody,_

_I got a text from you today. It's the first one you've sent since I left. It made me cry. Even though it was about Peyton and her returned from the grave mom. Pathetic, right?_

_-b-  
_

_July 13th_

_Sometimes I get so afraid that I'll get back home and see that I've lost you, but then I realize that I lost you when I walked away._

_-b-  
_

_July 14th_

_Lucas, _

_I miss you so much. I went out today. My parents went out on a yacht, so I took the oppurtunity and went out with that girl I wrote about a few days ago. I had sex again with some guy, and all I could think about was you. You make me hate myself. I hate you so much, you know that?_

_-b-  
_

_July 23rd_

_Luke,_

_If you don't love me anymore -_

And that's when she gently places the letter down. The paper is wrinkled with dried little blobs of once shed tears, and she tries to feel what she must have felt while writing it years ago, but she can't.

A strand of hair escapes her bun. She sighs, but makes no effort to tuck it back into place.

Her thoughts are scattered, so she thinks maybe another glass of wine will calm her down.

She's twenty six now, and she doesn't really like beer anymore.

She returns with a filled glass moments later, and pouts slightly when the letters are still scattered across her bedroom floor.

She hasn't thought about him for a while, and for a second she thinks that it seems like fate that she finds this box the day he returns to Tree Hill, but she doesn't dwell on that for long.

Her phone beeps for the second time in less than an hour, and this time she does answer.

"Brooke?" she hears him question, but his voice roots no emotion. She thinks that's strange, because she'd always reserved a large part of her heart to him.

"I hear you're in town," she says simply, and takes a long sip of her red wine. Her dimple showing as the liquid runs down her throat.

"My mom has cancer," he says, even though he knows that she knows this. Maybe he thinks that it justifies his eight year absence, but she's too bitter to accept that. Even if it means that the woman that sheltered her for a few months is dying.

"I'm so sorry," is all she can whisper, and she'll continue to wonder for days if she really means that. She's changed, that she knows, but maybe too she's become heartless. She doesn't want to show any emotion, because she does not want him to feel any form of satisfaction.

"I want to see you," he pleads in that voice that takes her back in time, and all she can do is laugh humorlessly. He's still the same, she concludes. In that boyish voice, she can tell that Lucas Scott has not grown.

"I hear Peyton is expecting your second child," she says with no bitterness or remorse.

There's a long pause, and she fights the urge to check if he's hung up, but he speaks before she has the chance. "I didn't call to talk about Peyton."

"I don't really know why you called," she says with no intention of finding out, but she says it anyways.

"I just want to know why we stopped talking."

This time it's her turn at silence, because she really doesn't know. She never sent her letters, and she never did give him another chance. She came back that summer to find Lucas helping Peyton cope with the return of her mom by innocently spending the days with her. Then she found Lucas helping Peyton cope twice a night.

She didn't even cry then. She just covered her sad smile, and spent that year like she spent her summer.

Missing him.

"We were just in High School," she speaks bitterly now, because she's feeling things she hasn't allowed herself to feel in years. "We were just kids, it didn't mean anything." She lies.

"I'm so sorry," he says in a hauntingly empty voice, but she can tell that unlike her previous apology, his is sincere.

"Good bye, Lucas," she says and hangs up because no other words can be said, or maybe because she hears her locked door open.

"Who were you talking to?" she hears her husband, Julian Baker, ask from the kitchen.

She ponders the question for a few seconds, and when she sees him walk into their bedroom, she shrugs her shoulders and gives him an effortless lie. "No one important."


End file.
